


Tentacles are Rather Sweet, John!

by okapi



Series: Holiday Tentacle!lock [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Costumes, Dessert & Sweets, John telling the story to Mrs. Hudson in hospital, M/M, Poor John, Sherlock Has Tentacles, Tentacles, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 22:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13622544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Sherlock & John end up helping with a children's Valentine tea. Tentacle!lock fluff.





	Tentacles are Rather Sweet, John!

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for Mrs. Hudson being in hospital with an unspecified (but serious) issue.
> 
> [Love Monster](https://us.macmillan.com/lovemonster/rachelbright/9780374301866/) is from a series of children's books by Rachel Bright.
> 
> Thank you to [Small Hobbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit) for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> There is an Explicit-rated follow-on ficlet to this in my Cheers collection, [Chocolate Cherry Cha Cha](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6604225/chapters/31278819).

John knocked as softly as he could.

“Come in,” called a weak voice.

He opened the door and said quietly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Hudson.”

She brightened. “Oh, my dear! How good to see you! I thought maybe something had come up. Visiting hours ended a while ago.”

“What are visiting hours to a doctor?” John teased. He set a pink cake box on a table with wheels and rolled the table to her bedside. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner.”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head dismissively. “I’ve not felt well enough for visitors until today. In fact, I am just getting caught up on my messages. Yours—and others’,” she added under her breath, “make for an amusing, but incomplete, picture of what you’ve been doing. I’d rather hear the whole story from you.”

John pulled up a chair and sat down. “And that’s why I am here: to tell you ‘The Adventure of the Children’s Valentine Tea.’”

Mrs. Hudson settled back amongst her pillows with a smile and motioned for him to begin.

* * *

“For starters, you gave us quite the scare the day you took ill, especially Sherlock, though he’d be loath to admit it. He and I returned to Baker Street and found six ladies on our doorstep—”

“The Baking Committee,” interrupted Mrs. Hudson. “We were meeting at mine because Marie had to have some emergency fumigation or extermination or something of that sort.”

“Yes. We explained that you were in hospital and offered the committee the use of our flat for their meeting, and when I realised what it was all about, that the same group who’d organised the Trick-or-Treating at Hallowe’en was hosting a much smaller event, a ‘Children’s Valentine Tea,’ well, of course I volunteered to take your place and prepare whatever baked treat you had been slated to provide.”

“As I said, Sherlock was, well, terribly upset about you,” continued John, “but I did not realise how upset until he made a few cutting remarks about the historical origins of Valentine’s Day. The meeting was well under way by that point, and he’d been sitting at his desk on his computer, silent, for the whole time. One of the ladies made a counterremark, and Sherlock, well…”

John’s voice faltered.

“He made a deduction,” suggested Mrs. Hudson.

John sighed. “Yes, three, in fact. Another one of the ladies rose to her committee member’s defense. And then, one by one, Sherlock deduced them all, save Mrs. Turner, and they all quit the committee and stormed out of the flat. Only Mrs. Turner was left.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyebrows rose. “Well,” she breathed.

John exhaled. “Yes. Sherlock was unrepentant, but I was mortified. By way of apology, I told Mrs. Turner that we would make all the treats for the tea. Mrs. Turner said not to worry, that she had a pair of married tenants who were fabulous in the kitchen and that they could take care of it. At which point, Sherlock broke his second surly silence and declared that no, he and I were better than any married couple of hers, in or out of the kitchen, and that we would make you proud. Then he made a comment about vermin and the state of Mrs. Turner’s kitchen and Mrs. Turner went red in the face, dropped the committee minute book, and left.”  

“Ah,” said Mrs. Hudson. “That does explain a few of Marie’s messages. So that is how you ended up making everything?”

“Yes. It was a non-stop bake-a-thon. And Sherlock was quite helpful. You know, he is, at times, well, handy in the kitchen. He’s got a chemist’s mind, and, as he told me over and over, baking was essentially chemistry. And so, he was much on the front end of the process. I did a lot of the middle grunt work, the mixing and pouring, the cutting and moulding, the in and out of oven, and then when everything cooled, Sherlock went to work on the decorating. Pink and red and white everything. Icing, icing, icing. Sprinkles. Glitter. Sweets this, sweets that. He has a very delicate, uh, hand. I think he enjoyed himself actually, well, parts of him did, anyway.”

“But what ever did you make?” she asked.

“I thought you would ask. That is why I brought you a sampler so that you could see for yourself.” John stood and opened the pink box and held it down that she might peer inside.

“Oh, my goodness, John! The children got all of this?”

He hummed. “Heart-shaped personal-sized pizzas. Heart-shaped sandwiches. Heart-shaped cake pops—”

“Cake pops?” asked Mrs. Hudson, frowning.

“Well, they’re balls of cake stuck on little sticks and dipped in icing.”

“Oh, fancy,” she remarked.

“Yes, luckily, the committee minute book had instructions for everything. Of course, Sherlock insisted on improving upon the instructions. But, let’s see, what else did we make? Heart-shaped biscuits decorated like Love Hearts. Fairy cakes in three shades of pink icing with Love Hearts on top. Large chocolate-dipped marshmallows on little stickss. White and dark chocolate-covered pretzels—”

“Sweet pretzels?” murmured Mrs. Hudson. “How interesting.”

“And what the notes referred to as ‘friendship potion,’ which was actually fizzy pink punch in small, old-fashioned bottles tied with ribbon,” finished John.

“All that, for all those children!” cried Mrs. Hudson.

He nodded. “Mrs. Turner arranged for transportation of everything, and I went along just to lend a hand at setting up. We were a bit early. The Decorating Committee had just arrived. They did the tables for the treats first, then all the treats were laid out. Everything looked great. Mrs. Turner thanked me, and I turned to go.”

“And then?” Mrs. Hudson prompted.

“And then Sherlock showed up. And maybe he was a bit, well, somberly dressed for a children’s tea. Dark suit, dark shirt. But the tea hadn’t started yet. And I daresay we’d have been gone before it started if the chair of the Decorating Committee hadn’t asked Sherlock whose funeral he was attending. Then he proceeded to tell her when _her_ funeral was going to be held, right before he unraveled her entire balloon arch and opened a window so that the whole thing blew away.”  

“Oh, dear,” breathed Mrs. Hudson. “He was in state, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” said John with a nod. He pressed his lips together. “We were both very tired, exhausted, really but that’s no excuse. A great row ensued, with the result that the whole Decorating Committee stormed out.”

“Oh, John, no!”

“Oh, yes! I was furious, but while I was yelling at Sherlock, Mrs. Turner became very pale and shaky. I took her outside and sat her on a bench and went to get her a glass of water.”

’But everyone will be here in an hour,’ she cried.”

“’I’ll work every minute of it,’ I assured her. She looked at me very skeptically, I couldn’t blame her, and then mumbled something about the Games Committee arriving soon. Finally, she sighed and something about Mrs. Beeton and catching our hare and we headed back into the Hall, but the door was locked.”

Mrs. Hudson frowned. “Sherlock?”

“He was in there alone, as far as I knew. I knocked. Then I knocked some more. Then I banged. Then I yelled. Mrs. Turner went to try another door, but all of them were locked. We heard him inside, the whoosh of the air tank, the squeak of chair legs on the floor, the rustle of unwrapping, unfurling. Half an hour passed and just when I was about to shoot the door—”

“Oh, John.”

“Figuratively,” John clarified. “Mrs. Turner had finally reached the centre manager on the phone, the doors opened.”

“And?”

“And it looked magical,” said John with a chuckle. “The children’s tables were covered and decorated with pink tablecloths and splendid little,” John made a motion with his fingers, “fountain centerpieces. The games stations were made up rather nicely and all clearly labelled. And above everything, a magnificent red-and-pink balloon dragon hovered, spanning the length room.”

“He did it all by himself?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

“Yes!” John shook his head. “Mrs. Turner and I could not believe it. And so, just as the Games Committee was arriving, Sherlock and I said our good-byes to Mrs. Turner, and that was that.”

“Well, you’ve certainly had quite a time of it.” She looked at the treats in the box. “None of this is, of course, on my ‘approved diet,’ but, I’ve always be partial to Love Hearts, so perhaps, I’ll just pick the decorations off this one,” she lifted the fairy cake out of the box, then added with a wink, “and the rest I shall use in bartering and bribing the hospital staff.”

“Excellent plan,” said John. “I do not think anyone, regardless of age or condition, needs this much sugar.”

“So, John, you didn’t stay to see how it all turned out? To see the children?”

“No,” said John. Then there was a noise and a posh baritone.

“Fibbing’s very naughty, John.”

John turned to see Sherlock standing in the door with a bouquet of pink roses in hand.

“Sherlock, you’re one to talk,” scolded Mrs. Hudson. “You’ve been a horror!”

“True,” said Sherlock. He set the bouquet down on the table and drew a sweet on a little stick from the box.

“Cake pops,” he said before sticking the whole pink-iced glob in his mouth. “Love ‘em!”

“Well, Sherlock, did your,” Mrs. Hudson wiggled her fingers, “enjoy themselves?”

“Uh, Mrs. Hudson?” stammered John. “Do you know about—?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock at once.

Then Mrs. Hudson continued, giving John a quite pityingly look, “There isn’t a lot you can hide from your landlady, and it’s a bit foolish to try, my dear boy.”

“But you’re not, well, frightened?” continued John.

Mrs. Hudson scoffed. “Tentacles are rather sweet, John! In addition to being very useful, I mean, who else would I call when my diamond earring rolls behind the washing machine?”

John laughed and shook his head and murmured, “Well, well, well.”

“That was the whole point, wasn’t it, my dear?” said Mrs. Hudson, looking at Sherlock. “The reason for all the tantrums. Your friends wanted to come out and play? They really are most festive creatures.”

“Is that what it was all about?!” cried John. “Sherlock!”

Sherlock shrugged, then eyed the contents of the box.

Mrs. Hudson’s tone was stern. “If you’re going to continue to eat my sweets, young man, you need to tell me the rest of the story.”

Sherlock smiled and helped himself to a chocolate-covered marshmallow on a little stick. “Of course, we stayed to see how it came off, but the Games Committee—“

“Who had apparently heard all about Sherlock,” interrupted John, “from the other committee members.”

“—had other ideas. They said they were short of two people for entertainment.”

John shook his head ruefully. “I was certain that you would refuse. I was certain—”

“You hadn’t seen the costumes, John.”

“Costumes?” asked Mrs. Hudson.

“One of them was Cupid,” said John. “Full nude body stocking with short toga and laurel crown and bow and quiver and foam, child-friendly arrows.”

“And wings,” said Sherlock. “With great, big white feathers.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Hudson nodding. “I think I’m beginning to see what happened. And when you wore the wings, Sherlock, they had their own, uh, internal structure.”

Sherlock smiled and nodded and grabbed a heart-shaped biscuit from the box. He put a second in his pocket. “My wings flapped.”

“The whole time, I’m certain,” said Mrs. Hudson. “But what were you, John?”

John dropped his head.

Sherlock’s smile turned to a grin. “He was the Love Monster.”

“Love Monster?” queried Mrs. Hudson, her brow furrowed.

“He’s a short, furry, round creature with horns and big eyes and a blue heart,” said John, lifting his head to glare at Sherlock. “The costume was heavy and cumbersome and hot as hell.”

“And far too small for me!” argued Sherlock.

“At first, it was okay,” John admitted. “Go around. Waves. Hugs. High-fives. Lots of photos. But then,” he glared harder at Sherlock, “someone had the bright idea to make a game of chasing me around the room and trying to shoot me with arrows.”

Sherlock bit his lips. “Won’t you think of the children, John? They loved it.”

John snorted. “I know one _brat_ who enjoyed himself immensely.”

“John,” Mrs. Hudson admonished.

Sherlock flashed his mobile at Mrs. Hudson and tapped the screen. “It’s already on Youtube.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyebrows rose as tinny squeals sounded from the phone. “Oh, my. Poor John.”

“Yes,” grumbled John. “Yes! Poor, poor John.”

When the video stopped, Sherlock dropped his phone in his pocket.

“Well, thank you, boys, very much,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Now what are your plans for tonight? There are still a few hours left of Valentine’s Day.”

John laughed. “After the day we’ve had?! A quiet night in.”

“Nonsense,” said Sherlock, resting a hand on John’s shoulder. “John has been sorely taxed with this business. He’s going to get a sweet little Valentine’s day. Dinner and dancing!”

John looked up at Sherlock, eyes wide, mouth open. “Dancing?!”

Sherlock nodded.

“Sounds lovely,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Have a wonderful time, but, please, never, ever volunteer to take my place again.”

John got to his feet. “Noted. Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

One of Sherlock’s smallest tentacles emerged from his coat and curled towards the fairy cake.

Mrs. Hudson smacked it with her hand. “No,” she said firmly, and it quickly retreated into Sherlock’s coat. “Go! And you and your eight friends had better show John a good time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sherlock, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Love Monster, indeed,” she said, smiling and chuckling to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
